


Translucent Where Others Are Opaque

by planxtary



Category: Original Work
Genre: Agender, Anorexia, Aromantic, Aromanticism, Depression, LGBT, Mental Illness, Poetry, domestic abuse, poem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:51:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6255376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planxtary/pseuds/planxtary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some poetry, usually about personal things, and experiences with mental illness, being agender, and aromanticism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother

**“Mother”**

we took our stars from the sky  
and put them into  
streetlamps, city lights  
neon signs in the dead of night  
clouding our skies with light  
and smog  
thick like the smoke in our lungs  
and the needles in our hearts  
it was in this kind of place that he told her  
“you can’t get to a rose  
without facing its thorns”  
and she said, “their purpose is to protect  
from hands  
like yours”  
her veins are rivers that run with toxins  
you tore her down to build yourself  
what once was ferocious  
lightning cracks and magma  
is now just the fog in the air  
the mist rising off the lake  
where water’s green  
and brown  
and red  
she retches and heaves  
she did not have a voice  
when it came  
to you  
  
she’s choking now  
smoke suffocating  
your hands around her throat  
fingers pressed into skin  
bruising  
dark yellows and browns  
she can’t breathe  
she can’t breathe  
through fire and debris  
you take what you want  
and she’s starting to feel faint  
she does not know  
how much longer  
she can last


	2. Disassociation

**“Disassociation”**

my body is like  
a building  
abandoned  
the foundation crumbling  
and cracks in the walls  
the floor creaks  
with each step i take  
bends under my weight  
groans  
with pressure  
the windows  
are broken  
glass lays shattered  
vines climb in  
tangle around my limbs  
pulling  
pulling me apart  
joints pop  
dislocate  
bones crack  
knuckles stained red  
and i watch it all happen  
standing beside myself  
i watch it all happen  
i am a closed door  
and the keys don’t fit  
i knock             
i knock  
           i knock  
and nobody answers  
i can see myself struggling  
through the eyes of something else  
it does not click  
that that is me in the mirror  
i am the house  
that i haunt


	3. Numbers

**“Numbers”**

measuring tape  
wrapped around your waist  
it gets tighter and tighter  
with each passing day  
concave curve  
hips jutting out  
a hundred and twenty pounds  
is just a little too much  
the hand on the scale  
ticking higher  
higher still  
your chest grows heavier  
with each decimal  
five hundred calories  
is all you’re allowed today  
don’t you dare go over  
but under’s okay  
feel the bump of each rib  
wrap your fingers around your arm  
you couldn’t do that  
last month  
a hundred and ten pounds  
is just a little too much  
why did you eat that?  
why?  
dig it out  
claw  
with fingers down your throat  
it’s not the first time you’ve done this  
and it won’t be the last  
a hundred pounds  
is still  
just a little too much  
black dots in your vision  
your hair is falling out  
how many strands is it today?  
how much did you eat today?  
put that back, you’ve had enough  
even if it’s getting  
a little hard to stand  
just take a drink,  
ticking time bomb  
it’ll numb the emptiness  
and water  
is zero calories  
there’s nothing left to purge  
all that comes up anymore is blood  
but it’s okay  
it’s okay  
it’s still something  
ninety pounds  
is still  
just a little  
too much


	4. Stepping on Caterpillars

**“Stepping on Caterpillars”**

growing up  
for me  
was the transition from  
lying in bed  
late into the night  
tears prickling my eyes  
afraid to die  
because of course  
there comes a point  
where suddenly you realize  
all things come to an end  
and there is a sleep  
of the forever kind  
but at which point  
did that fear melt away  
did it become  
a razor pressing into skin  
a handful of pills  
the lust  
between myself  
and an upcoming truck  
at which point  
did exhaustion come on so strong  
that i would sing my own lullabies  
read my own bedtime stories  
tuck myself in  
for that endless sleep  
growing up  
for me  
was the realization that  
the world is a cruel  
senseless, penitentiary  
shackles around your wrists  
from the very moment they announce  
it’s a girl  
it’s a girl  
but you don’t know  
what a girl is  
you’ve felt empty  
for so long  
and words like girl  
or boy  
seem too strong  
for a being that is hardly there at all  
unattached  
disassociated  
translucent where others are opaque  
growing up  
for me  
was not beautiful  
flowers in hair  
blowing bubbles  
and dandelions  
instead  
i remember  
blood covered hands  
bruised legs  
a hit to the face so hard  
you swallow your two front teeth  
and a first kiss  
that felt  
like drowning myself  
because i didn’t even like him  
but i wanted to  
everyone else did  
and i thought perhaps  
with just a little force  
a little push  
i could  
but i couldn’t  
because even then  
i was already drained  
how could you possibly feel  
something for someone  
when you yourself  
were only numb  
how could you possibly  
let yourself believe  
there was a summer out there  
when winter is all you’ve ever known


	5. Untitled - March 15th

**“March 15th”**

the problem is  
you picture yourself as the waterfall  
the tsunami  
the lightning strike  
the blizzard  
you do not grow up  
expecting to become  
the leaking tap  
the dew on grass  
the static of socks on carpet  
or the trails of frost on the window  
you look up to people  
who are natural disasters  
sinkholes  
avalanches  
 and solar flares  
and in comparison  
you seem so very small


	6. 10 Ways I Knew It Was Over Before It Was Over

**“10 Ways I Knew It Was Over Before It Was Over”**

1\. She stopped telling me, “Text me when you get home safe.”   
2\. We’d sit side by side in silence.   
3\. She already had plans with someone else.   
4\. She started saying “ily” instead of “I love you.”   
5\. She put in her headphones to sleep.   
6\. “NMU?”   
7\. I didn’t know her new favourite song.   
8\. Yes, she promised, but she couldn’t let her new friends down. You understand, right?   
9\. “Did you get a new phone?”   
10\. Seen at 5:31pm.


	7. Deeply Rooted Problems

**“Deeply Rooted Problems”**

roses tangle in your hair  
chrysanthemums in mine  
such lovely blossoms  
when i first met you  
but now this garden  
is weighing me down  
  
it’s beautiful yes  
but so very heavy  
becoming difficult  
to even look you in the eye  
and all you do  
is continue to water  
but honestly  
i think  
you should just let them die

vines climb down our bodies  
our veins emerge into roots  
and i’ve held your hand for so long  
they’ve grown together  
turned into a mass   
like a hornet’s nest  
hanging between us  
malignant

 and what is a rose without its thorns  
but i hadn’t expected  
they’d grow into me  
that i’d become  
a pincushion  
and now  
i’m bleeding  
red is your favourite colour  
and you’ve always said  
i was your favourite flower

it hurts  
it hurts  
and i can’t pull away  
each tug at my veins  
is a jerk at my heart  
and i wonder  
at which point  
does a garden of once cherished flowers  
become a patch of weeds

scissors  
shears  
whatever it takes

  
but cutting these roots away

  
is going to hurt


	8. Nothing is Real

**“Nothing is Real”**

I’ll begin with saying that this is less of a poem  
more of a monologue  
perhaps less of a monologue  
more of the scribbled nothings  
scrawled by a lunatic  
on asylum walls  
chips in the paint  
where my nails dug in  
blood as ink  
I’ve rawed my fingers down  
after hours   
of clawing.  
the asylum in this case  
is the more sensible part of my mind  
(am I allowed to say that?)  
the part that grabs me by the hair  
forces me out of bed in the morning  
the part that  
like a drill instructor  
tells me  
do as you’re told  
you piece  
of shit.  
outside of the asylum lies the rest of the world  
yes, I mean the planet  
its oceans and continents  
its towers and memorials  
and all of its people  
and the bad things they’ve done  
it’s all inside my head.  
I feel as though I’m fleeting between realities  
the world is a figment of my mind  
and I  
in turn  
am wandering down these dark corridors inside my head  
there is only me here  
it has always been that way  
anything I believe to exist  
is just another part in this elaborate scheme  
the good  
the bad  
societal structures and conformities  
truly  
there is nothing  
and in that sense  
what reason is there to go on.  
I find my way upstairs  
boxes lie piled up  
everything that I’m used to is gone.  
the mugs that my parents collect  
lining the top of the kitchen cabinets  
are missing  
as is the vase I made my mom in first grade  
by gluing purple and blue tissue  
to a coke bottle  
(I’m surprised she’s kept it all these years)  
the fancy teacups and delicate figurines  
locked away in the glass cabinet  
are nowhere to be seen  
the drawers  
with the knives and spoons and whisks  
are empty  
I convulse.  
if this house is my mental state  
if the world is truly inside my head  
I think  
it is falling  
a p a r t   
I find myself wondering whether the universe exists at all  
not in an existential crisis kind of way  
(well, perhaps a little)  
but more so  
I wonder  
is this disassociation  
or revelation  
has something come unplugged  
or exactly the opposite  
has the fog in my vision cleared out  
allowing me to see  
the truth?  
is there a world out there  
with people with their own minds and thoughts  
or is it only me  
can you prove to me otherwise  
after all  
who’s to say that the world will not cease to exist  
when I die?  
if the universe only exists because we observe it  
what happens when I am no longer here to do so  
can you tell me  
that I did not create all of this  
that I am not trapped  
inside my own mind  
why everything goes black when I shut my eyes  
I’ve spent my days  
pondering psychology and philosophy  
I’ve done things that would make Pavlov proud  
and Kant grimace  
conditioned myself into panic attacks  
and heart palpitations  
by playing a single sound  
(isn’t the mind powerful?)  
I’ve discovered scepticism  
nihilism  
beliefs that  
nothing exists  
and life is meaningless  
and can you tell me  
am I a philosopher  
or just insane?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can tell me I'm crazy  
> And I can reply that you aren't really there  
> But would I just be proving you right?


	9. Forget-me-nots

Forget-me-nots – shock of deep drowning blue  
Green in crawling ivy and tangling vines   
The falling sun – skies dark in nightly hue  
Trees on horizon’s skeletal outlines

Rabbit skull, spider’s web, yellowing grass  
My garden is a place of life in death  
Bones will splinter, break, shattering like glass  
Then trees will come collecting wasted breath

Nothing lasts forever, but that’s okay  
Death – not conclusion; continuation  
After all, rot will feed mushrooms some day  
And sleep is an alluring temptation

Why bother, flowers wilt and so will I  
Life ends not with a scream but with a sigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sonnet I had to do for class. Teacher loved it and said it could've easily won our sonnet contest but I didn't participate - Dammit I could've won $20.


	10. Ghosts

**“Ghosts”**

you’re eight years old  
alone on the swing set  
in your backyard  
though only one seat is filled  
you try to convince yourself  
the other’s empty sway  
is not really so empty

it’s in the breeze that tickles your neck  
the grinning face seen only in crayon drawings  
it’s your shadow when you step on it  
so it won’t run away

it’s there, later in the car  
when you fasten the seatbelt of your friend beside you  
and your mom smiles  
in the rear-view mirror  
looking only at you

suddenly you’re thirteen  
giggling  
tearing blue-lined pages   
from schoolbooks  
scrawling down symbols   
of lines and dots  
a language that no one but you  
and the person beside you  
can understand

your mom will find them  
folded in the pockets of your laundry  
and she’ll furrow her brows  
shake her head  
and laugh

it’s there when you’re seventeen  
and you first learn the word  
_paracosm_  
suddenly the world inside your mind  
makes sense  
and you can’t help but wonder  
how many more  
are there

it returns when you’re thirty-two  
when you overhear your five-year-old  
relaying his day  
to a stuffed bear  
and behind the door  
you smile a smile  
your mom has smiled  
many times before

and then finally when you’re sixty-three  
dust on your knees  
from spending your day  
sorting through old boxes  
when you find crayon drawings of yourself  
and crumpled notebook papers  
character designs  
from back in high school  
names you’ve forgotten  
but their ghosts have stayed with you  
all these years


	11. Stepping on Caterpillars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was supposed to be a rewrite of my other poem with the same title but ended up being entirely different. Still decided to keep the title tho.
> 
> When my writing teacher read this poem he said I have the soul of a writer :-)

**"Stepping on Caterpillars"**

fleece hat  
slipping over your eyes  
something warm in the pit of your stomach  
like crackling fireplaces casting orange shadows  
scented candles  
baking pies

stepping stones  
of pencil marks  
on the wall where you track your growth  
rainbows on soap bubbles  
sidewalk hopscotch  
plastic ducks  
orange peel smiles

scraped knees  
training wheels  
neon bandaids  
the faster you rip it off  
the less it will hurt  
red  
like pie filling  
you think  
this must be  
your favourite colour

horseshoes  
rabbit’s feet  
you got an A  
on the spelling bee  
that boy from school  
bright blue eyes  
his fist in your hair –  
he pulls  
rips  
he likes you  
he likes you  
he likes you

then suddenly  
music  
like your heart plugged into an amp  
you feel it  
_thump  
thump  
thump  
_ red solo cups  
flashing lights  
and you see him.

he smiles  
eyes you could drown in  
but they look so tired  
he has a voice like calligraphy  
takes your hand  
and lightning crawls through your veins  
lets go at the end of the night  
and static drips from your fingertips  
you trade phones

sitting on the curb  
counting the number of times  
the traffic light has turned red  
thirty seven  
thirty eight  
sucking on a cigarette like a lollipop  
rainbows of oil slicks  
headlights  
sunsets  
thirty nine

laughing  
as though nothing could ever break you  
tugging petals off flowers  
blowing dandelions  
four leaf clovers  
he doesn’t call  
you never believed in superstitions anyway

then suddenly  
swimming vision  
burning throat  
but something inside of you is light  
like you’re breathing helium  
floating  
you want to dance so you do  
hear camera shutters  
friends holding out their phones  
you wink  
pose  
reach for another bottle  
to ease the pounding in your brain

fake lashes  
lipstick kisses  
Disney movie nights with friends  
huddled in blankets  
folding paper stars  
you smear paint across your arms and face  
purples, blues  
a mosaic  
like Van Gogh  
something so artistic  
like beauty  
can be found in disaster  
you paint a heart on your friend’s cheek  
smile  
and finally  
he calls

whispered sweet nothings  
movie dates  
promise rings  
hugs from behind  
roses  
red  
like plastic cups  
wine  
he calls you his little bug  
and you can’t see straight when he’s around  
he catches you when you stumble  
his touch drives you further  
you’re seeing black dots

it’s like he’s wearing a mask  
his lips grin  
twitch  
crumble  
salty tears  
family secrets  
he rubs his wrist  
says  
you’re the missing piece of his puzzle  
what he needs to be whole

and then  
new car smell  
keys to your first apartment  
he carries you over the threshold  
and says  
this place  
is ours

you’re going to fix him  
his eyelids, translucent butterfly wings  
dark veins and purple half moons  
his hands seize  
tremble  
bones cut against his skin in sharp angles  
you can count each one of his ribs  
like the red slashes  
on his wrists  
and thighs  
it’s fine, he says  
~~it’s fine~~  
he coughs up black lungs  
hacks  
heaves  
he always smells like smoke  
and Crown Royal  
cigarettes for breakfast  
and drinks for dinner  
you love him  
you love him  
but it doesn’t change  
a n y t h i n g.

the way his mouth hooks at one end  
then pulls into a smirk  
the calluses on his hands  
the way his hair falls over his eyes  
how his sweatpants  
hang on his hips  
when he makes breakfast in the morning  
you think you might be an alcoholic  
and so  
is he

then suddenly  
girls’ night out  
drugstore perfume  
popsicles shaped like cartoons  
gas stations after dark  
glowing signs  
smell of petrol  
and you go home  
and he yells  
like digging a corkscrew into your stomach  
your guts tangle like the headphones in your pocket  
his voice so loud your ears ache  
concussive words  
he says  
WHERE WERE YOU  
WHY DIDN’T YOU ANSWER YOUR PHONE  
YOU STUPID  
PIECE  
OF SHIT.

mascara tears  
wiping them away then leaving  
black marks on the wall  
like ink fingerprints  
taken from a suspect  
he says  
_~~i’m sorry  
i was so worried  
you were gone so late  
and i had no idea where you were  
never do that again  
~~ you could have gotten hurt._

he gets you a new phone  
this one with longer battery life  
puts his number on speed dial  
your wallpaper  
is a photo of you and him  
together  
your mother calls  
he answers  
says you’re doing fine

and who knew  
you’d watch the world  
like an experiment from a test tube  
fists pounding against glass  
until finally  
it  s h a t t e r s  
splinters  
shoots into your skin  
like broken needles  
crawling through your veins  
making you see things  
that aren’t there  
and you wonder  
are drugs and antidepressants the same thing  
both are happy pills  
that pull you out of bed in the morning  
and put you down at night

you stare at the green clock  
ticking backwards  
melting  
then the shadows around you  
of rainbow coloured people  
look in the mirror  
bloodshot eyes  
pupils dilated  
like solar eclipses  
he always said you were made of stars,  
you think as you watch yourself glow  
then look back at the purple clock

cracked lips  
bruised knees  
nose bleeds  
you loved the stories where the prince saved the princess  
fairy tales  
happy endings  
now you write  
salt-in-wound poetry  
find beauty  
in the welts painting your skin  
red  
like his scars  
his face  
this one is shaped almost like  
a heart

and then  
he comes home  
bad day at work  
his fist in your hair  
the wall pressed against your cheek  
like the cold side of the pillow  
white knuckles in your face  
who knew  
a ring could cut so deep  
makeup paints over the black and blue  
and pale pink bandaids do the rest –  
he’s not done  
his palm against your face  
lightning strikes  
he loves you  
he loves you  
he loves you

he says  
_~~i’m sorry  
~~ i can’t hurt your pretty little face ~~  
there people can SEE –~~_ ~~~~

Mary had a little lamb  
whose heart was black as coal  
you felt like a sculptor  
hacking away  
at all of his self-control

you eeny meeny miny moe-d decisions  
he’ll find something to be upset about anyway  
so what does it matter  
plucking flower petals  
like pulling the wings off butterflies  
magnifying glasses over anthills  
stepping on caterpillars  
before they have the chance to grow  
into something beautiful  
fly swatters like riding crops  
Raid like pepper spray  
he’s always hated insects.

tears still gather in your eyes  
but you blink them back  
you’re stronger than this  
[STOP BEING SO PATHETIC]  
you’re going to fix him  
just as soon as  
you fix  
yourself

lately  
his shaving razors have been going missing  
you hide them in your locker at work  
(it’s the only place he can’t look)  
he’ll buy more  
and it’s the only place you have time to yourself  
to paint –  
just one on your ankle  
another on the back of your neck  
inconspicuous places  
he won’t be able to tell them apart from the rest

vomit  
pregnancy tests  
stomach drops  
you wonder  
wire coat hangers –  
you can’t do it  
[COWARD]

bags under your eyes like anchors  
something so heavy pulling you down  
you can see the weight in the way your hands shake  
eyelids droop  
SNAP OPEN  
he’s home  
blood rushes  
heart pounds  
he smiles  
he brought you a pie  
and you think  
red  
like blood  
is such an angry colour

and then  
baby mobiles  
like glass wind chimes  
light blue  
like the fingerprints on your hips  
it’s a girl  
it’s a girl  
you can almost recall the doctor saying  
d i s g u s t  
the nurse smiles but your face is something sour  
the baby cries  
blue eyes you could drown in  
grimace  
running water  
and you wonder  
looking down at your hands  
arms  
stomach  
dirty and painted  
blues  
blacks  
yellows  
slashes of shattered glass  
m o n s t e r  
you wonder  
will people say  
it was a girl  
it was a girl  
once upon a time


End file.
